Some Boyhood Bravery
by TheMaywat
Summary: Kurt is the president of McKinley's Stage Crew and Management Club. Blaine is the new transfer who landed the lead in the school musical. Kurt knows there's something more to Blaine than meets the eye, but what? AU; eventual Klaine. Rating might change.
1. He Seemed Infallible

**Author's** **Note: **Welcome to my first multi-chapter _Glee_ fanfic! This is AU-ish, which I'm basically using as an excuse to change certain bits of canon to fit my fancy. Hope you don't mind. Anyway, there's a good chance that this fic's rating will eventually be moved up to M due to future scenes of violence and sexuality, so if you have certain triggers or are squicky about those types of subjects, then you might not want to get into this story. Regardless, I will provide appropriate warnings at the beginnings of chapters. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. This is just a bit of fun.

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Kurt sat with his legs crossed, leaning back slightly in the cushioned auditorium chair as he flipped through the script that had been dropped in his lap two seconds before. _West Side Story_. Oh sweet Jesus. Finally—_finally—_McKinley was putting on a show that was not only worth his time and effort, but one that truly had a chance of getting off the ground without being prematurely shot out of the sky by the close-minded, short-sighted, honk-if-you-hate-the-arts people who ran this sorry excuse for a school.

For the first time in his three-and-some years at McKinley, the school play was a sure thing. This time around, there were no weird club separations that would cause points of contention, like there had been with _Cabaret_. Someone had actually had the good sense to give the glee club free reign (which should've been a no-brainer, given the fact that the thing was a _musical_), bringing aboard three capable directors to coax _West Side_ to life. And although this play had its fair share of mature themes, unlike _Rocky Horror _it was tastefully done and not too risqué for delicate Ohioan sensibilities. This was a legitimate musical based on a legitimate play with legitimate characters and had a legitimate storyline; there was absolutely no way it was going to be cancelled. Kurt wouldn't allow it.

Oh, did he mention the fact that it may or may not have been one of his favorite musicals of all time? Well, it was.

And even though he wasn't going to be playing Tony or Riff or even Bernardo, he was still going to be involved in the show in some capacity, and that was all the reason he needed to turn mama-bear on anyone who dared touch it with an ill-meaning hand. This play was _going_ to happen. He'd put up with too many craptastic assemblies and benefits and pep rallies with the likes of New Directions and the Cheerios for it not to.

Besides, it was his senior year. Everything had to be perfect this year, and no _West Side _meant imperfection—an angry zit on the glowing, porcelain face that was the most important year of his high school career. Uh-uh. No way.

He quit his leisurely skimming of the script's pages and began reading through them with more attention and determination, taking note of the lines and breaks and stage blocking he should consider if he was to do his job properly. He clicked open the pen in his hand, ready to start scribbling notes in the margins.

He began writing "LP" next to certain names on the character list, indicating which actors would need to be strapped with lapel mics and then noting just how many of those mics he would need to have on-hand. He supposed he could always have the actors use handhelds, but honestly he felt like those were better suited for concerts where they could be used sort of like props, adding to the performance instead of retracting from it. For plays, he much preferred lapels since they freed the actors' hands for gesturing and didn't distract the audience from whatever scene was unfolding onstage. Yes, he decided. Lapel mics, definitely.

He was moving onto marking scene changes and points where he'd have to deal with possible breakaways, not at all listening to whatever 'Let's have fun, hooray!' speech Miss Pillsbury was completing, when a voice piped up in the row in front of him and a couple seats to his right. "Man, this is gonna be so amazing, I can't wait to get started!"

Kurt's head shot up, his eyes searching out the source of that voice, quickly landing on the speaker's smiling profile.

Blaine Anderson. Dreamboat, nice guy, enigma. From anyone else, that statement might have sounded contrived, but from him…

Kurt could never quite figure out this Blaine character. He was a junior, a transfer student from some prep school out in Westerville that Kurt would have _killed_ to attend, and he fit right in at McKinley like a round peg. Despite Blaine's new-kid status and his strange affinity for bright colors, bold patterns and bowties, everybody seemed to like him. Apparently he was the right amount of unique-but-typical, special-but-approachable, strange-but-normal, and people were inexplicably drawn to him. He could probably get away with wearing a pin that read: "Geology rocks!" without receiving much grief. How the hell did he do that?

If Kurt's gaydar was accurate, which it almost always was, Blaine was positively _flaming _underneath the could-be-straight act—a fact that Kurt forced his heart to ignore (_Not a chance, Hummel, so don't even think about it_)—which meant that he should be receiving slushy facials and getting thrown into dumpsters and against lockers on a regular basis. Instead, Blaine was getting leads in musicals and enjoying inexplicable relief from bullying in spite of his gaudy clothes and glee club membership. Whatever. He was probably in deep, _deep _denial about his sexuality anyway. He seemed like the type to have an enormous chip on his shoulder that he tried desperately to hide and didn't think other people noticed.

Not that Kurt would ever dare to bring it up or ask about such things. He'd never even spoken to the guy. Blaine was just way too friendly for no reason, which Kurt found terribly suspicious, nevermind that his wardrobe was entirely too distracting for Kurt's taste. It was like the closets of Frankie Avalon and Buddy Holly had gotten drunk together and thrown up on him. And even if Kurt did approach him, what would he say? _"Hey there, kid. Nice ankles. Tom Ford would be proud."_ Yeah, no. It was probably best to keep their relationship (if they ever interacted) purely professional. Kurt didn't need to worry about someone else's problems when he already had so many of his own to deal with.

"Well, of _course_ it's going to be amazing with me as Maria and you as my Tony," said the girl to Blaine's right, patting his shoulder placatingly. "No one else in this school could have been better choices for the leads; your baritenor is the ideal complement to my flawless mezzo soprano, and we'll be absolutely perfect—as long as you don't upstage me."

Christ but Rachel Berry was annoying. Kurt might have been able to stand her constant babbling if she didn't always inevitably circle back to talking about herself, but no such luck. And now he was going to have to deal with her in full diva mode for the next several weeks until the production was finished. Crap.

He tried his best to burn a hole through the back of her head with his glare.

"That's nice, Rachel," said Artie, the one student out of the three directors that were responsible for the musical (and probably the most qualified for the position). "But Coach Beiste, Miss Pillsbury and I will be the ones who decide what's perfect and what isn't, and until we see you perform to our expectations, there will be no boasting or showboating. You're not good 'til we say you are."

Eyebrows were collectively raised. Everyone knew Artie—knew that he was, for the most part, a consistently honest guy—but no one had ever seen him like this. It was new. He was very clearly taking charge and not afraid to tell it like it was. Director Artie was in the house, and Kurt had a feeling he was going to like him very much.

Rachel was left gaping, her mouth opening and closing in a decent impersonation of a fish, but she didn't talk back or argue, which was a very rare occurrence with her. Kurt soaked it up. Yes, he was definitely going to like Director Artie.

Said director steepled his fingers, propping his elbows on the armrests of his wheelchair and addressing the group of students in the house seats across from where he was positioned onstage between Coach Beiste and Miss Pillsbury. "I know you guys are excited to be here, to be a part of a show and wear costumes and dance around and have fun—which you definitely should be, I'm not saying that you shouldn't—but do not forget that this isn't just going to be all fun and games. If we want this thing to be as amazing as we all know it has the potential to be, then we're all going to have to work our _asses_ off to make it happen. And that goes as much for the extras as it does for the leads."

Some of the football players grumbled, but otherwise the assembly was silent.

Artie continued. "Mr. Shue entrusted the three of us," he gestured to his fellow directors, "to put together the best musical that we possibly can, and we will, but we need you guys to trust us and our vision and not get carried away with your own agendas. Put your pride aside, let us do our job, and we'll make sure y'all look damn good when the curtains are drawn on opening night."

There were some hoots as the company applauded Artie's little speech, clearly appreciating and respecting the man's words. Well then. The tone was set.

"OK, y'all. Let's get down to business and start the read-through. Since we're beginning late," Artie gave a mohawked boy near the side aisle a pointed look, "we'll only be doing Act I today. "

Sitting a few seats apart from everyone else, Kurt was the only member of McKinley's Stage Crew and Management Club present at the script handout and read-through. No one was using any stage equipment today or requiring someone to operate lights or curtains, but because Kurt was the club's president (and, therefore, stage manager), it was in his purview to attend all rehearsals even if his crew wasn't technically needed. Any small decision made by the directors could affect how he did his job, and so he made it a point to be present no matter how mundane the meeting.

The read-through wasn't anything special—Kurt had seen its like before. There was always the overenthusiastic actor who got way too garish (Rachel, in this case), the bored actor who couldn't care less about plain reading (the kid with the mohawk, Puck), the green actor who was still getting the hang of things (Mike, one of the jock-and-glee-club gadflies), and the exceptional actor who was somehow completely engaging without being overzealous (oh hell, of course it was Blaine). Kurt was only partially paying attention to the reading, having employed his selective 'Okay now _this _is relevant to me' hearing, taking notes when he needed to. But when they got to the final scene of the act, he became utterly captivated.

He wasn't sure what it was exactly; he knew the story and had read the script before, but the scene _felt_ different this time. He couldn't explain it.

Kurt looked over at Mike, Blaine and Puck, who were reading the scene—Puck having moved closer to the group at Artie's insistence—and tried to figure out what it was that was different.

"Get with the gang," Mike read, trying to sound like a tough guy and nearly succeeding. He turned in his seat to face Blaine, who was behind him with Puck to his left.

"No," Blaine responded as Tony, glancing up from the script to make eye contact with Mike. Blaine looked a bit tense around his neck and shoulders, like he knew something bad was about to happen and he was physically ready to defend against it. That was interesting, Kurt thought. It was almost as if Blaine wasn't even acting but was instead simply responding naturally to the thrum of impending violence in the scene. Maybe that was what Kurt had noticed? But why would an instinctive performance bother him? (And it _did_ bother him.) It was just good acting, right?

Mike returned Blaine's stare, looking confused—because of Blaine or because of the scene, Kurt couldn't say. "What're you doing?" he continued the repartee, though somewhat unsurely.

Puck cut in with Bernardo's line. "Maybe he's found the guts to fight his own battles," he said, not without some derision.

Blaine smiled at him warily, eyes flicking to his script for a second. "It doesn't take guts if you have a battle," he said. "But we haven't got one, 'Nardo." He extended his hand for Puck to take, but Puck promptly shoved away.

Everyone in the room was on edge, the air thick with tension that should have been fictional but was decidedly not. Blaine, Puck and Mike kept up the exchange, one of the other football players chiming in as Diesel, but no one really paid him any attention. All eyes were on Blaine.

"Bernardo, you've got it wrong," Blaine said, voice going up half an octave as he rushed to get the words out. Kurt frowned at him. Was he afraid? Why was he afraid? They were just running through the script; there was no reason to get worked up.

Puck sneered at him. "Are you chicken?" he teased, adding _buckawk_ noises to illustrate his question.

"You won't understand!" Blaine exclaimed, his eyes near panicked. What in the world?

This was actually a very technical scene, management-wise, and Kurt should have been jotting down notes and turning his script into a veritable comic book, but his pen was all but forgotten in his hand as it hovered an inch above the paper, all of his attention focused on Blaine.

"What'd you say, chicken?" Puck taunted further, either enjoying the stress he was causing or else entirely clueless to the authenticity of the anxiety in the room.

Blaine was clutching the script tightly in his hand, crumpling it in one corner. "Bernardo, don't," he pleaded.

"Don't what, pretty little chicken?" Puck _buckawk_'d again, causing Blaine to jump slightly in his seat.

Mike interjected, addressing Blaine. "Tony, don't just stand—" But Puck interrupted him in turn.

"Yellow-bellied chicken!" he yelled at Blaine's face, which was barely controlling a look of fear.

And then the football players who had minor roles started to join in with their respective lines.

"Get him!"

"Tony!"

"Murder him!"

"Kill him!"

Puck kept going, caught up in the momentum of the scene, eventually coming to a head with Mike's Riff as the two characters battled it out.

"Riff, don't!" Blaine all but screamed as he stared in horror at the deaths that were written out on the pages he had grasped in his hands. Tears were building up in his eyes, tumbling down his cheeks as he delivered the act's final, anguished line.

"MARIA!"

No one spoke, the reverberation of Blaine's voice ringing in the silence.

Kurt stared wide-eyed at the boy's profile, which had long since stopped smiling. Blaine slowly put down his script and wiped at his face with the backs of his hands, sniffling quietly. There wasn't a closed mouth in the auditorium. Coach Beiste was actually crying (openly weeping, really), as was Rachel, who looked deeply moved with a hand clutched to her chest.

"Blaine," she said breathily, visibly in awe. "That was… wow, that was… _incredible_. It was _so real_!" Her eyes were impressed and almost comically wide as she swallowed audibly before asking, "What were you thinking about?"

Oh my god, why would she ask that? Why the _fuck_ would she ask that? Had she not been present for the past five minutes? Did she not see how vulnerable Blaine was clearly feeling right now? Did she have no tact?

Feeling extremely protective for some reason, Kurt turned up his glare to its highest level. Screw burning a hole through her head; he was going to blow the whole damn thing off her neck.

But Blaine didn't respond. He didn't acknowledge or even look at her.

Rising from his seat and avoiding eye contact with anyone, Blaine hastily collected his bag, muttering a quiet 'Excuse me' as he escaped into the aisle and quickly rushed out of the auditorium.


	2. Don't Wish, Don't Start

"He probably has daddy issues. All the pretty ones do."

Kurt looked over at his best friend Tess. She was stuffing her face with greasy, ketchup-covered fries from Hotdog on a Stick and noisily sucking the soda out of the straw of an accompanying fountain cup. Strands of her frizzy, strawberry-blonde hair kept falling in her face, locks barely contained by a scrunchie that looked quite close to retirement. Kurt contemplated not telling her about the smudge of ketchup she'd smeared on her cheek from her last attempt at taming the errant curls, but they were in the middle of the mall's food court in full view of the general public and he decided he wasn't that mean. He reached over with a napkin and wiped the offending sauce off, earning him a quick smile of thanks.

"I bet his dad hit him or something after he found out he was gay," she continued nonchalantly around a mouthful of fries, tossing a couple more in as she chewed.

Kurt gaped at her in both surprise and revulsion. What? What did she just say? Did those words actually just come out of her mouth? Oh yuck, her mouth…

"OK, first of all, _please_ don't do that while you're talking," Kurt insisted, gesturing at her face vaguely. "I really don't need a first hand demonstration of your mastication process."

She only grinned widely at him, giving him a better view of her french-fry pulp and amplifying his look of disgust. Kurt suppressed a shiver. She was so gross when she ate.

"Second," he carried on tightly, giving her a reprimanding look, "that's a terrible thing to say about someone, especially when you don't even know if it's true. Abuse isn't a joke, Tess. Seriously, you can be a real insensitive bitch sometimes."

Tess pouted at him. "Aw, that's why I have _you_, honey bear," she replied only a scant second after swallowing. Whatever, at least she swallowed. "You're sensitive enough for the both of us." Another fry down the hatch.

Kurt cleared his throat briefly. "And third, what makes you think Blaine's gay, anyway?" he asked, purposefully ignoring her comment about his sensitivity. He had learned pretty quickly to brush off any remarks that might call attention to his less manly qualities. Things like that only brought him down, and besides, at the moment he was actually kind of curious to hear what Tess had to say. "He seems like he could go either way to me."

If he was honest with himself, Kurt _knew_ Blaine was gay. But a part of him didn't want to believe it because, if it was true, it meant that he would then be vulnerable to experiencing a new kind of hurt: genuine rejection. Not rejection because of a difference in sexual orientation, but rejection solely because of disinterest. He didn't think he'd be able to stand that. Still, another part of him was curious.

Tess let out a bark of laughter. "Uh-huh, right. If his clothes weren't a dead giveaway, you mean?" She chuckled a bit.

Kurt felt some color rise in his cheeks.

Oh right, because clothes always and unmistakably defined a person's sexuality. He huffed to himself. Maybe Blaine just took the 50s throwback trend very seriously. Maybe his clothes were handed down to him from his grandpa or something, which seemed entirely possible given that he mostly wore Brooks Brothers and Gant. Those brands have been around for, like, forever. Not that Kurt looked close enough to notice the brands Blaine wore. It was just kind of obvious with all those tight vests and v-neck sweaters and patterned bowties and pinstriped Oxford shirts and bright red, teasingly fitted chinos…

Kurt mentally shook himself. _Stop it, brain. Off limits._

He hated to admit it, but he'd actually thought about Blaine quite a bit since the previous day, wondering at his behavior during and immediately after the read-through. While Kurt knew it wasn't uncommon for actors to have residual feelings bleed onto them from a character they were portraying, he also knew that such an intense reaction as Blaine had had only happened when the actor's own personal experiences were involved. What kind of thing had to have happened to Blaine for him to be so sensitive of such vaguely written violence? Did it really have to do with him getting beat up for his sexuality, like Tess said?

He managed to bring his attention back to his best friend across from him.

"I'm serious, Tess," he said once he had his thoughts in order. They hadn't talked much about Blaine before (apart from Tess remarking on his "damn fine bubble butt," as she liked to call it, but that was inconsequential) and Kurt was quite interested in seeing where this conversation would go. "Why would you assume he's gay?"

Tess thought for a moment before responding. "Well," she said and then paused, not saying anything for almost a minute.

Kurt's heart fell. He was really hoping she would offer _something_ to help him form a working theory about Blaine the Enigma. Well, you know, something beyond commentary on his clothes and what he could do with his ass, which Tess had decided gave him the power of mind control. But Kurt was positive there was more to this Blaine than his wardrobe and his ass, although he wasn't quite sure why he wanted to know more or why it even mattered to him in the first place.

He was about to give up on the apparently dead conversation and change the subject when Tess finally spoke up. "He doesn't look at girls," she said in a way that sounded like she'd only just realized it.

Kurt snapped to attention, frowning at her questioningly. "Huh? What do you mean he doesn't look at girls?"

"He doesn't look at girls!" Tess repeated emphatically.

Kurt rolled his eyes at her terrible attempt at clarification, but Tess's voice was starting to get excited and her eyes looked like cogs were turning rapidly inside her head, so Kurt let her continue.

"He's always surrounded by them, a whole gaggle of them—like, all those show choir chicks—but he never checks them out or anything, not ever," she carried on rapidly. "And it's not like those girls aren't good looking or whatever, 'cause let's be real here, they're fucking hot. Some of them are freaking _cheerleaders_, for Christ sakes, but he just isn't interested! Oh! Oh! And I totally caught him giving that Mike Twinkle-Toes guy the once-over, an—don't give me that look! I'm 100-percent positive that I didn't imagine it because, well, I may or may not have been doing the same thing before I noticed him looking, too." She took a breath and gave Kurt the biggest open-mouthed grin he'd ever seen. "Oh my god, Kurt, Blaine's totally gay!"

Tess bounced in her seat a little and bit down firmly on her bottom lip in what Kurt assumed was an attempt at keeping herself from squealing.

Kurt just blinked at her. Though his heart was racing, he tried not to let it show. He knew it was his own fault for asking why she thought Blaine was gay, but he didn't want to talk about it anymore. His heart was getting too close to hoping, and his head didn't like it.

"Um, why are you so excited?" he asked, thinking desperately of a way to divert her interest and potentially change the subject. "Shouldn't you be disappointed if he's gay? 'Cause if he is, then _for sure_ any attempts you make at trying to get into his pants would be considered rape. You don't want a repeat of the Riley incident." There, bring the conversation back to Tess and her shenanigans; throw in a little humor and voila! She wouldn't be able to resist the snarky attention. She was a sucker for self-absorbed banter.

"It's only technically rape if I make it to intercourse," Tess replied with a smirk.

"Yeah, really not my point," Kurt shot back, although he was quietly breathing a sigh of relief. He could chitchat for days about Tess's sexuality and love life, compartmentalizing like a pro so it wouldn't get to him, but when it came to his own love life he hated even going near it. Thinking about it was useless and painful and just reminded him of how lonely he was. And no one seemed to get it. Not only was his love life nonexistent, there wasn't even any potential for it to be born. Not in this town, at any rate. God, what made him bring focus to Blaine's sexuality? Why did his brain think that was a good idea? If Tess had latched onto that thought—

"Speaking of your _point_…" Tess said suggestively.

Kurt looked up from his Diet Coke to find his best friend grinning at him. Uh oh. Kurt's eyes went wide with panic. Red light, RED LIGHT! No. Nonononono. Absolutely not. This was not happening. They were not doing this. This thing right now that was starting to happen? Yeah no, it wasn't going to.

He was shaking his head so fast that his coif almost came undone.

"Oh come on, Kurt! We never get to talk about you! I never thought I'd say this, but I'm tired of talking about myself!" Tess pouted at him again, although this time it earned her a fierce glare. "Come on, pleeeeeaase?"

"No!" Kurt exclaimed a little too loudly, receiving a few glances from people at neighboring tables.

"Why not?" Tess asked with conviction, sounding genuinely upset. "We always talk about me, Kurt, and I'm starting to get annoyed by it."

Kurt avoided looking at her, instead trying to see if he could read Tokyo Grill's menu from where they were sitting. He could make out a few of the items without squinting.

Tess huffed at him. "You know, I'm always convinced you're the mature one in this relationship and then you go and do stuff like this."

_Hibachi steak, teriyaki chicken and steak, hibachi steak and shrimp…_

Tess went quiet for a couple minutes. Kurt thought he had won after a while, but Tess eventually spoke again, her tone more gentle than before. "You don't think I see how lonely you are, but I do."

That got Kurt to look at her.

Tess gave him a sad smile. "How long have I known you, Kurt? Since we were eleven? That's six years now. And when was the last time you told me about a boy you were crushing on?"

Kurt wasn't sure if the question was rhetorical or not, so he just shrugged a shoulder.

"I think it was when we started high school," Tess answered for him. "You used to be so much fun to gossip with, talking about which boys looked like good kissers and which ones you wouldn't let near you in a hazmat suit, but then you just stopped talking about boys altogether. Like, you'd just let me talk and talk and talk and then you'd nod your head or laugh when you thought it was appropriate; don't think I haven't noticed." She pointed a finger at him to make sure he'd heard what she said—that she wasn't oblivious—before putting her hand back down on the table and continuing. "I know it's hard for you, Kurt, and I couldn't possibly understand what it's like to be the only out gay kid in Lima. That's why I let you have your privacy. That's why I don't push when you shut down after I ask if you think someone's cute. That's why I didn't make fun of you after that whole Finn fiasco."

Kurt cringed. He really hated that that had happened and wholeheartedly wished he could erase that particular disaster from history. What had he been thinking? But while that was arguably the dumbest thing he'd ever done, it completely validated his tight-lipped behavior towards boy talk. What was the point in talking about boys if he couldn't have them?

He must've said that last part out loud because Tess scoffed at him and said, "But that's not how it is with Blaine, now is it?"

Kurt frowned at her again. He could feel a headache forming. "We've been over this, Tess. You can't prove that Blaine's gay. Sure, he's got _some_ sense of fashion, but that doesn't mean anything. And as for him never checking out any girls, how would you even know? Do you, like, spy on him 24/7 or something?"

"Oh, shut up," she said offhandedly. "What about the Mike once-over?"

"Was Mike in the middle of a performance?"

"Well yeah, but—"

"—But nothing, Tess! He was probably just watching his friend perform! Jesus Christ… Can you please drop it? You can nag me about boys all you want once I get out of this Podunk town and move to New York and actually have a chance at finding someone, a _man_, who likes me and wants me, but for now just… just drop it, OK?"

Kurt could feel his cheeks and ears heating and knew he was turning beet red. For a moment he wished he could run away and leave Tess there. But she was the one who had driven them, so that wasn't happening. He decided sticking his face in his hands would have to suffice.

He heard Tess sigh before he felt her pull his hands away and hold them in hers atop the table. She searched his eyes for a few seconds before speaking. "OK," she agreed, her voice so soft that he almost didn't hear her.

Kurt gave her a look of gratitude and allowed himself to smile. She would shut up about it now, thank god. He didn't think he could take any more of her enthusiasm when he knew it would only lead to his heart getting hurt.

"Although I think you're mistaken, I'll drop it."

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**A/N:** Looks like Blaine's not the only one with issues! I wonder how our boys will deal with them? Anyhow, I just wanted to thank everyone who's been reading this story and adding it to their alerts and favorites after only one chapter. It really means a lot to me that people actually like what I write and are interested to read more. Thank you thank you thank you!


	3. But I Know Your Type

"Dad, I'm home!" Kurt called into the house as he shut the front door, not bothering to lock it.

After having put an end to that distinctly uncomfortable conversation with Tess, Kurt decided to skip out on their previous plans to see a movie and asked if his best friend would just drop him home instead, saying he needed to work on a few assignments for class (which _was_ technically true, although not as imperative as he made it seem).

Sure, it was only Saturday and the assignments weren't due until Monday, but Kurt hated leaving homework for Sundays. He much preferred spending those days relaxing and lounging about before having to start his hectic week all over again. Though his assignments that weekend were pretty run-of-the-mill and he doubted it would take very long to complete them, he still liked having things done as soon as possible. He had an outline to do for American Gov, a quick translation for French, and a short exploratory essay for AP Lit, which was apparently supposed to help him work towards forming a thesis for his midterm paper. Man was he glad he actually did the summer reading, or else he'd be screwed.

After hearing a distant "Alright, kiddo!" yelled back at him from somewhere within the depths of the house, Kurt made his way up the stairs toward his bedroom.

He noticed his stepbrother's door on the other side of the bathroom from his own was open, the room empty. Finn had the midday shift at the tire shop on the weekends. As much as Kurt was embarrassed to know him some days, he knew Finn truly was a good guy and Kurt loved that he had made the effort to help his dad out. That was something he wasn't going to forget anytime soon.

Once he got to his room, Kurt closed his door most of the way and promptly sank down onto his desk chair, ready to get down to business.

If he was honest, doing homework stemmed as much from him wanting to be productive as it did from him just needing a distraction. He knew Tess meant well, but the deep-seated feelings she had stirred up hurt too much for him to want to consider.

_Take a chance; go after Blaine._

Yeah right. Couldn't she understand how it was from Kurt's point of view? What it felt like for him? The deadweight of his uncertainty? It was like dangling a piece of fruit in front of a starving man only for him to find out that it might be poisonous. Seriously, why even take the risk of going after the fruit? No matter how juicy and delicious that piece of fruit might be, Kurt maintained that the best thing the man could do was wait for something sure, something _safe_ to pass under his nose.

Kurt tried to push the afternoon talk from his mind as he grabbed his Government textbook and accompanying notebook, opening up the former to the assigned chapter. He slowly felt himself relax, his thoughts beginning to clear as he got into the humdrum of reading and outlining.

An hour and a half later, he was finished with his outline as well as his French translation and was staring at the blank word document he'd opened up on his laptop, trying to think of a good starting point for his English essay.

The book his class had been assigned was _Absalom, Absalom!_ by William Faulkner. Not exactly the easiest book to expound, but it _was_ an AP class, so Kurt wasn't exactly surprised.

He flipped through the novel on his desk briefly, skimming the notes he'd scribbled in it and reminding himself of the thoughts he'd had while reading the story. He found quite a few question marks etched into the margins. What exactly _had_ he thought about the novel? Well, that it was extremely messed up, for the most part. But he couldn't very well write that.

After a few more minutes of pondering, however, he latched onto an idea and began to type.

"_When I initially received the assignment to write an exploratory essay on _Absalom, Absalom! _I thought the whole idea was ridiculous. Why write an essay about the process of writing an essay? Are you kidding?"_

Candor. Woot woot.

Yeah, that might raise his teacher's eyebrows, but Kurt didn't really care. He was nothing if not honest, and the teacher had said that this essay was supposed to be a "probing narrative of your thought process as you evaluate the novel and work on your midterm." The fact that the assignment was ridiculous just happened to be Kurt's first thought in that process.

But it was probably best if he wasn't _too_ straightforward. He didn't really want a failing grade.

"_My second thought, however, was a bit more productive. I got the idea in the back of my head to research and write about Faulkner's portrayal and representations of youth in the novel through the examples of Miss Rosa, Clytie and the Aunt—the absence of youth, the loss of it, the potential fossilization of it…"_

Except that that wasn't exactly true. It had taken him longer than he'd like to admit to come up with that "second thought." But the things he'd really contemplated as he got into the reading seemed a little inappropriate for a high school paper.

Kurt paused, debating with himself on how he would continue the essay. He had an inkling of what he actually wanted to write about for his midterm, his true second thought (hint: not this youth bullshit), but he was unsure of what he'd be allowed to get away with. Was there a line he was supposed to toe in this class?

Screw it, he thought. If he got in trouble, then he got in trouble. It was the teacher's own fault for assigning a book with so many controversial topics. If she'd wanted safe and vanilla, she should have assigned _The Phantom Tollbooth_ or something.

"_However,"_ Kurt typed. _"I got sidetracked in my reading. In an attempt to understand what the heck was going on with the characters (honestly, what in the world?) I started doing some research, reading various papers written about the novel. And in my research I kept coming across essays on 'deviant' sexuality—namely, incest and homosexuality—and how Faulkner both forces this idea on his readers and then saves them from it, all the while keeping such sexuality woven within the characters as a vital part of the story."_

Kurt felt his pulse speed up. This decision could go terribly wrong and blow up in his face, but he couldn't stop typing.

"_When the idea of the possibility of homosexuality being a main topic in the story entered my mind, I began to see all the instances in which this could be manifest—specifically, in the apparent love shared between Henry Sutpen and Charles Bon, and also in the narrative (and perhaps sexual) intercourse between Quentin Compson and Shreve McCannon."_

Was this too much? The English teacher was definitely more open-minded about this sort of thing than the other teachers at McKinley, but Kurt still felt a little hesitant about throwing gay sex in her face.

And now Kurt was thinking about gay sex. Gay sex that he wasn't having. Because Lima sucked. And not in a gay way. Unfortunately.

Distractedly, he typed on.

"_But what is the purpose of this introduction of 'deviant' sexuality in the novel? Is it simply to go along with the other taboos that are present? Did Faulkner even mean to draw attention to such an idea, or was this wholly unintentional? I mean, if it was unintentional, then what was up with the erotically-charged dual storytelling of Quentin and Shreve?"_

Wait, what was his point? He had a point, right?

"_Am I reading too much into this? Maybe. Do I need to stop thinking so much and just get laid already? Probably. But lord knows _that_ won't happen anytime soon… klsjdddddddfkal;sssfjjjj"_

Kurt picked his face up off the keyboard and deleted the last couple sentences he had written. What was wrong with him? He really didn't need his personal problems spilling into his coursework. Homework was his getaway, as weird as that sounded, and it needed to stay separate from his personal life.

He sighed to himself as he saved the work he had done and closed the document. He'd finish it later. For now he needed to find a new distraction.

He opened up a browser and clicked his way over to Facebook. Maybe sticking his nose in other people's lives would distract him from his own. He scrolled through his newsfeed.

Look, this person got a new dog and named it Molly. How original. That person just had a birthday. Oh, happy birthday! This other person couldn't seem to stop reposting George Takei's photos. Understandable. This person over here recently got fitted for a bridesmaid's dress and posted a picture. Oh, honey, no; that is not flattering. And that person over there just became friends with Blaine Anderson—_Do you know Blaine? You have 11 mutual friends, send him a friend request or message him!_

Oh for crying out loud!

"Goddammit! What the fuck!" Kurt growled in frustration. Could he not escape this guy for one day? Just one measly little day? Was it not enough that he had to see his ass every weekday as Blaine walked past him to get to his locker a couple yards away from Kurt's? Did Kurt have to suffer his teasing existence on the weekends as well? He was already hot and bothered enough from thinking about gay sex because of that stupid essay—

—Not that Blaine made Kurt think about gay sex! He most definitely did _not_ think of Blaine when he thought about sex, because that would be wrong. Wrong wrong wrong.

Kurt pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment before putting his hand down and looking back at the computer screen.

_Blaine Anderson_ taunted him in periwinkle blue.

Before Kurt knew what he was doing, he clicked on Blaine's name and found himself staring at the most adorable cover photo he'd ever seen. Blaine was smiling so widely that Kurt could see most of his teeth, and he had his arm wrapped around the shoulders of a tall, stupidly gorgeous man with blue eyes and _great_ hair (wow). Like Blaine, the man was sporting an unbelievably broad smile.

Kurt thought the two looked like they might possibly be related, but he couldn't be sure. There was something in the similarity of their faces that made him think that they were, but then again that could just be coincidence. Or wishful thinking.

_Shut_ _up, brain._

The two were wearing matching black and teal bowling shirts, an excited flush coloring their cheeks. Maybe they'd just won a match? Or maybe they weren't relatives like Kurt hoped and were actually on a date and being obnoxiously cute with the matching shirts and they both bowled terrible games but were happy anyway because they had each other at the end of the day.

_Shut _up_, brain!_

Kurt looked at the picture a little longer. The smiles were infectious, and he found that he couldn't help smiling himself.

They were brothers, surely.

Kurt clicked around, taking in what he was allowed to see of Blaine's profile. Education, location, basic info ("Interested In" notably absent, naturally), friends, networks, favorites, and some pictures in which he was tagged.

Well. That was much more than Kurt thought would be viewable. God knows Kurt doesn't allow anyone except his friends to see _anything_ on his profile, and even then he's always cautious about what he posts. After all, what was the point in him working to become a prominent name in The Biz only to have his reputation squandered by a years-old Facebook post?

But from what Kurt could see, Blaine seemed keen on his image, too, despite not being as withholding. There was nothing inappropriate or too revealing lying about. Blaine liked Top 40 and American Songbook type music. He enjoyed rom-coms, musicals and novel-based movies. He read a lot of classics interspersed with kids' books. Kurt wasn't really surprised to find _The Giver _at the front of his books list.

Blaine's favorite quotes were a little more interesting, however. They probably said a whole lot about Blaine, if Kurt cared to suss them out. He read the first one out loud.

_"I thought your coffee table was more clever than that."_

What was that supposed to mean? Kurt had no idea without any context, but he kind of liked it. He hadn't expected sass out of Blaine. It was a welcome surprise.

He was just moving on to Blaine's photos when he heard the front door open and close. A pair of male voices resounded from the receiving room, conversing for a few minutes before a set of footsteps started up the stairs. Quickly, Kurt closed the browser and shut his laptop, grabbing a pen and pretending to write something on a post-it.

His dad rapped softly on his bedroom door. "Hey, buddy," he said.

Kurt looked over at him, expression somewhat surprised, like he'd been completely immersed in whatever he was doing and hadn't heard Burt coming up the stairs. His dad seemed to buy it. Maybe Kurt should consider acting instead of crew work. "Oh, hey, dad. What's up?"

"Sorry to bother you, kiddo, but I was just about to head out to meet Carole and Shuester to work on some ideas for the campaign, and there's a kid downstairs who's saying he was supposed to meet up with Finn for glee club stuff. Finn's late coming back, though. I think there was a problem with a customer down at the shop," Burt said, taking off his ball cap momentarily to scratch at his head. "He should be heading out of there in a few minutes, but I don't wanna leave this kid alone downstairs or send him home when Finn's only gonna take 30 minutes, tops. You think you can keep him company until your brother gets here? I know you were probably working on homework, but…"

Kurt waved a hand dismissively. "It's fine, dad, don't worry about it. I'm practically done, and I was about to take a break anyway." He got up out of his chair and moved to the door. His dad gave him a grateful smile and led them to the stairs.

"Thanks, Kurt," he said. "I dunno why Finn scheduled a meeting so close to his shift, but there ya go; there's really not much we can do about it now. That boy… It's like he just forgets to _think_."

They descended the stairs, Burt shaking his head, and rounded the corner to the living room.

Blaine was there, sitting on the end of the sofa, legs crossed and hands clasped in his lap, looking dapper and polite and perfect as always.

* * *

**A/N:** Yeah, I know, it's filler. But I'd still like to know what you think! Review, please!

Oh, and if you were wondering why Kurt didn't recognize Cooper in the photo (come on, guys, obviously it was Cooper in the photo), it's because Cooper's background in this 'verse is different from canon. But all will be revealed in good time! I'm actually working on a separate fic that details Blaine's story from this 'verse, which is proving to be quite interesting so far. He's a fun character to play with.

And again, thanks for all the love, dear readers. You guys make my day.


	4. Just Keep Me Guessing

**A/N:** Sorry for the delay, everyone! Life getting in the way of writing and all that. Anyway, here's the next chapter. Enjoy!

* * *

Blaine looked up when Kurt and Burt walked into the room. His eyes lingered on Kurt for a moment before he smiled politely and stood up. "I don't think we've been officially introduced," he said, moving forward and extending his hand to Kurt. "I'm Blaine."

Kurt blinked dumbly at him for two seconds before taking the proffered hand. "Kurt," he replied, shaking Blaine's hand firmly, albeit quickly, trying his best to smile and act like he hadn't just been poking around Blaine's Facebook page.

Blaine was really warm, he noticed, and so much more gorgeous in person, especially when he was looking Kurt in the eye like that. Kurt vaguely realized that he'd never actually been face to face with Blaine before. It was a dizzying experience. His leading-man features underneath the slick Stanley Kowalski hair kind of hit Kurt all at once, and he almost took a literal step back.

Blaine's impossibly wide eyes were a deep amber color, dusted with flecks of sage, and were framed by the thickest, longest lashes Kurt had ever seen without the help of cosmetics. His eyebrows were thick and dark, making him look pensive and mysterious and drawing even more attention to his striking eyes. His nose was unassuming, though slightly crooked—which Kurt found rather endearing—and carved a path down Blaine's face to his perfectly bowed, partially open, distractingly pink mouth. Kurt could see a shiny wet tongue peeking out from behind a sliver of teeth, like Blaine had been about to say something but had stopped himself in the process of forming the words.

Kurt forced his eyes back up to Blaine's. It wouldn't be very becoming of him to drool.

He decided that no one should be allowed to be that wholly and casually beautiful; it was unfair. And that was just Blaine's face. Kurt dared not even look down at the rest of him yet.

There was momentary silence while Kurt stared openly at Blaine and Blaine stared back in kind, his eyebrows slightly raised as if asking if something was wrong or if he had offended Kurt in some way in the 30 seconds since they'd introduced themselves.

_Yes, your face offended me. It's too perfect. How dare you look at me with it all candid and stunning like that? Rude. Wildly offensive. _

But then Blaine's eyes started to take on a tinge of worry and apprehension at Kurt's upset expression, and Kurt silently chastised himself, schooling his features. He was being immature. He didn't actually know anything substantial about this guy, Facebook creeping notwithstanding. His thoughts were entirely uncalled for, and he had no reason to make Blaine feel uncomfortable. It wasn't Blaine's fault that he was attractive on a level that made other people jealous and painfully self-conscious.

Kurt broke eye contact first.

He heard his dad clear his throat beside him. "Right, well, I gotta go, boys," Burt chimed in, effectively (or perhaps not so effectively) ignoring the bizarre moment that passed between his son and this young stranger. Clapping a hand on Kurt's shoulder in what looked like an oft-used gesture, he addressed Blaine. "Make yourself at home, son. Feel free to raid the kitchen if you're hungry, and be sure to give Finn crap when he gets back for making you wait, alright?" He inclined his head at him meaningfully.

Blaine chuckled at that, seemingly at ease once again now that Kurt was no longer gawking or narrowing his eyes at him. "I'll be sure to do that, sir."

"I'm serious, it's the only way the kid'll learn. And don't call me 'sir,'" Burt scolded. "Makes me feel old. Name's Burt. Call me it."

Blaine nodded his acquiescence. "As you say, s-, uh, Burt," he amended.

"Good," Burt said, although he didn't look completely convinced, and turned to Kurt. "See you later, kiddo. I'll have my phone turned on if you need me for anything. I might be a few hours, depending."

"Alright, dad," Kurt said like he was going through the motions. "You should probably go now, though. Mr. Shuester isn't as patient as he lets on."

Burt gave a noncommittal grunt. "Right, right," he said, checking his watch and patting Kurt's shoulder once more. He threw a smile in Blaine's direction and said another goodbye as he rushed out the door and left the two boys standing alone in the living room.

The silence returned.

It only lasted a handful of moments, however, before Blaine was filling it with his voice, which Kurt felt had absolutely no right to sound so velvety. Voices should not make you think of dessert. Or novel surfaces on which to eat dessert. That was just unnecessarily distracting.

"So you're the infamous Kurt Hummel, huh?"

Kurt finally looked back up at Blaine's face after trying to ignore it for the past minute, only just catching what he had said, Kurt's mind elsewhere on thoughts of desserts that would go well with a hint of salt. Blaine was smirking at him, head tilted to the side, seemingly sizing him up.

"Infamous?" Kurt asked, shuffling his feet nervously.

Blaine's smirk widened. "I see you all the time at school," he began lightly, putting his hands in his pockets and turning to meander about the living room, taking in the various portraits and wall decorations. "By the lockers, in the auditorium, at pep rallies, whenever the glee club puts on a performance…"

"You stalking me, Anderson?" Kurt questioned with a frown, though without much heat. It was hard for him to sound affronted when his heart was pitter-pattering excitedly inside his chest. Blaine noticed him?

"You're kind of hard to miss, Kurt," Blaine replied matter-of-factly. "You stand out. Even when you're trying blend in."

The look Blaine gave him was penetrating. It made Kurt feel simultaneously uncomfortable and important, like he was actually being seen and not merely being looked at. Only four people in his life had ever looked at him that way.

Blaine was standing on the other side of the coffee table now, Kurt still by the room's entrance, and Kurt couldn't shake the feeling that there was something very different about Blaine from the other kids he knew—a certain something that perhaps shouldn't exist within this young boy across from him but did anyway. Blaine seemed so much older than he really was, standing there with his hands in the pockets of his mustard corduroys and a slight tension in his eyes as he smirked and made small talk, but Kurt couldn't put his finger on whatever that certain something was.

Kurt thought about what he knew of Blaine. He was a private school transfer, which meant he probably came from a family that was well-off—or at least upwardly mobile. But then why transfer to a public school? Maybe they fell on hard times? No, that wouldn't explain how Blaine could afford a new $900 BB sports jacket or his gorgeous Marc Jacobs shoulder bag. If anything, something terribly tragic had happened that was extremely personal and Blaine was only pretending to be okay. He was a performer, after all, Kurt considered.

"I'm not sure what you mean by that exactly, but okay," Kurt replied, trying not to squirm under Blaine's stare or let on as to how hard he was working at trying to figure Blaine out.

Blaine just shook his head, almost fondly, and turned back to the pictures on the shelves without responding. Kurt was somewhat frustrated with how comfortable Blaine seemed to be in his presence, in his house, when Kurt was all nerves in his own skin. Why did the universe keep throwing Blaine into his life? What was that about? He thought back to his conversation with Tess.

_"What's the point of talking about boys if I can't have them?"_

_"But that's not how it is with Blaine, now is it?"_

Kurt swallowed and looked the other boy up and down. Blaine was still inspecting the pictures beside the entertainment center as if they were the most interesting things in the world, mouth open in fascination, eyes shining with wonder. His fitted mauve polo rose up a little when he reached out to pick up one of the frames, revealing a strip of olive skin underneath the hem on his right side. Kurt could see part of a dimple at the small of Blaine's back peeking out from beneath the fabric. He bit his lip to ensure that no involuntary whimpers escaped his mouth.

He really needed to have a talk with the universe about this.

The photo that Blaine had reached out to was one of Kurt and his dad at what looked like a family barbecue, their eyes squinting in the sunlight as they smiled at the camera.

"This is a great photo of you guys," Blaine commented, glancing back at Kurt. "Family get-together?"

Kurt walked over to see which picture Blaine was talking about, making sure to keep at least two feet of distance between them, mostly for his own sake. Personal space was something he treasured and didn't give up lightly. He found that good things rarely happened when someone was in his personal space.

He stood beside Blaine at an angle as Blaine held the frame out so they could both look at it. Even Blaine's arm was gorgeous, Kurt thought distractedly. And he smelled really nice, too. Like nutmeg and sage, and something else. Sandalwood? No, that wasn't it. It was muskier than that. Kurt had no idea what the scent was, but it smelled wonderful and he kind of wished he could bottle it up.

_Wow, that's not creepy at all. Quit while you're ahead, Grenouille._ He shook his head ever so slightly in an attempt to get rid of his thoughts. Blaine didn't seem to notice.

"Oh yeah," Kurt confirmed, looking over the picture with a smile, his shoulders relaxing as he remembered when it was taken. "That's from when my dad's sister and her kids flew in from Virginia for Memorial Day weekend. I spent all four days standing over a barbecue pit because no one else seemed to know how to grill anything other than burgers and hotdogs. I mean, sure, my grilled crab legs were amazing, if I do say so myself, but my skin still has yet to recover from all the smoke and sunshine, even though it's been months."

"I think your skin looks great," Blaine replied genuinely, gliding his eyes over Kurt's face as if to prove that he couldn't find any trace of a blemish.

Kurt raised his eyebrows faintly at that, blushing fiercely. "Um, th-thank you," he stuttered, not sure what to say. "I have a very strict skin care routine."

He cringed inwardly. Really? That's really what he chose to say? He could've responded with anything—something complimentary maybe, like, "Your skin looks great, too" or "That's sweet of you to say" or "You really are too kind"—but no. No, instead, he responded with: _"I have a very strict skin care routine."_ Geez, could he sound any more anal and vain?

"It shows," Blaine said simply.

For a second Kurt was confused, thinking Blaine meant it was obvious that Kurt was anal and vain, but then he remembered—_"strict skin care routine."_ Blaine was complimenting his skin again.

Oh. Okay then.

"I'll have to try those legs sometime, though. They sound delicious."

Now Kurt _really_ wasn't sure what to say. Instead, he sort of just gaped at Blaine. He was a little perplexed at the exchange. Was that an innuendo? Was Blaine flirting with him? Was he simply making polite conversation? What was happening here? He was looking at Kurt again in that way that said he was paying attention. Did that mean something? Was Kurt simply not used to people who were genuine and nice?

_"He doesn't look at girls."_

Kurt swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. It probably didn't mean anything. Probably.

The silences between them were starting to become a trend.

"Gosh, where are my manners?" Kurt said abruptly and perhaps a smidge too loudly, causing Blaine to jump. "Would you like something to drink, Blaine?"

"Oh, yeah, sure. That'd be great," Blaine said, his weighted gaze lightening as he blinked in surprise at Kurt's sudden burst of etiquette. "Should I just follow you to the kitchen, or…?"

"Oh, um, if you want to. There's a breakfast bar you could sit at while I pour us some drinks."

Blaine liked that idea better than loitering around the living room, and so he put the picture frame back in its place and the two made their way to the large, well-lit kitchen. Kurt busied himself with their drinks—hot tea for himself and orange juice for Blaine—as Blaine settled on a barstool.

Kurt handed him a full glass and quirked his eyebrow in amusement at the plain excitement on Blaine's face. It was akin to the enthusiasm of a child.

"I take it you really like orange juice?" Kurt laughed lightly as Blaine quickly drank down half of the glass while Kurt sipped his tea elegantly.

Blaine placed his drink down, nodding with that crooked smirk that Kurt was starting to get used to. "I really really do," Blaine said, licking the liquid off his lips. Kurt's eyes flicked down to them briefly before going back up to Blaine's eyes. "Apple juice is my favorite," Blaine continued. "But I'm not picky; I like most fruit juice. I like most _fruit_, really. Anything fruity. Fruity is good. I always go for fruity."

"Fruity, huh?"

"Yup, fruity."

Kurt swore that he did not giggle at Blaine. Surely it was more of a chuckle, if that. It wasn't like he was smitten or anything, it was just that this was not the sort of conversation he ever imagined himself having with Blaine Anderson. He always figured Blaine would lean more towards serious and thought-provoking topics, like politics or art or the environment or something. He looked like the type to talk about the merits of recycling. Instead there he sat in Kurt's kitchen, gulping orange juice and rambling on about how fruits were tasty. Kurt shook his head, chuckling (_not_ giggling). "Adorable."

It was Blaine's turn to raise his eyebrows. "You think I'm adorable?" he asked after a moment.

Kurt blinked. "What?"

Blaine squinted at Kurt, a smirk once again painted across his face, and leaned forward with his elbows on the bar. "You said, 'adorable,' Kurt," he explained. "You laughed, you looked at me, you shook your head, and then you said, 'adorable.' You think I'm adorable?"

Kurt could feel his heartbeat speeding up. Oh god, he'd said that out loud—he hadn't realized. Oh no.

"What? I did not say that—"

"—Yes you did! You think I'm adorable!"

Blaine looked like he'd just won the biggest, fluffiest stuffed animal at the fair. He was smiling hugely, his eyes sparkling with mirth and amusement, and he was bouncing lightly in his seat. Where the heck had old-man Blaine gone? What happened to the polished boy with untold stories in his eyes? The person across the counter from Kurt now was more like an excited puppy.

"I—" Kurt began, but his words were cut short by the front door suddenly slamming open and closed, followed by the sound of something heavy—a bag, maybe—being dropped onto the floor in the receiving room. Seeing as Kurt had no idea what he had been about to say anyway, he didn't really mind the interruption.

Heavy footfall announced Finn's approach as he plodded through the living room on his way to the kitchen, which was, of course, always the first room he visited once he got home.

"Oh! Hey, guys," he said upon entering the space and spotting Kurt and Blaine. "Dude, Blaine, I'm sooo sorry I'm late! There was this lady at the shop and she didn't trust that I'd put her tires on right. Like, she said she didn't see me tighten the lug nuts 'cause she'd gone to the bathroom or something while I finished up with the tires and she insisted that she needed to watch me do it or else she wouldn't get in the car 'cause she didn't trust me and so she made me take all of the nuts off the tires and put them on again and then she scolded me afterwards because she didn't like how I handled the stud gun or whatever, and oh my god, I could not get her to go away fast enough! But anyway, that's why I'm late. I'm so sorry, man."

Finn was huffing by the end of his tirade, clearly still annoyed about the finicky customer and how she had made him late. Kurt decided that maybe it wasn't the best time to point out that Finn needed to take his boots off because he was tracking engine oil into the house.

"Nah, it's cool," Blaine said, draining his glass and standing up to clasp hands with Finn in that _bro_ way that Kurt never really understood. "Kurt kept me company. Apparently he's the grill master in this house? He told me about the crab legs."

Finn's face lit up. "_The crab legs!_" he exclaimed with a longing expression. "Man, Kurt, you need to make those again! I didn't even know I liked seafood until you made me try them. And that duck thing…"

"Duck à l'orange," Kurt provided.

"Yeah, that! Oh my god, dude. Seriously, we need to do that again. That was _awesome_. Maybe we could do something soon before the weather gets too cold? You could invite Tess, and I could bring Rachel and—"

"—Dear god, no," Kurt interrupted. "I cannot stand Rachel, Finn. You know that."

"She's really not so bad once you get to know her," Finn insisted. "I know her personality is kind of…"

"Self-interested and abrasive?"

"Oh, shut up, man, like you're one to judge."

The mood in the room quickly changed.

Finn's eyes went wide, as if he realized he shouldn't have said that once the words left his mouth. Blaine just remained silent and still beside his seat.

"Excuse me?" Kurt asked, his voice lowering, daring Finn to go on.

He could hear when Finn gulped. "It's just that, um – what I was trying to say was—" he stumbled over his words. "What – what I mean is that, well, you're kind of a bitch, Kurt."

Kurt put his tea down and moved into a threatening stance, crossing his arms over his chest and staring up at Finn. He could feel the blood heating his face, and in his periphery he could see Blaine shifting uncomfortably.

"But!" Finn continued quickly before Kurt could attack him. "_But_, really you're not a bitch."

Huh? Now Kurt was confused as well as upset. "Finn, I'm either a bitch or I'm not a bitch. Which is it?" He really didn't have time for this. Couldn't Finn just explain or shut up? Blaine was _right there_ hearing this.

"No, it's—" Finn let out a frustrated sigh, trying to make sense. "It's like, you act like a bitch to people, but actually you're not a bitch. Really, you're a pretty cool dude and you care about people and you're, like, thoughtful all the time, but being a bitch is like your armor or something. But that's not really who you are."

Kurt frowned at him. _Okay…_

"And like you, Rachel has more to her than what people see," Finn finished.

"Are you telling me I should give Rachel a chance because she's more than just a self-absorbed, loud, annoying little diva who can't ever seem to shut up?"

Blaine snickered quietly, which made Kurt smile.

"Um, yeah," Finn replied, looking like he hoped he wasn't in too much trouble.

Kurt just sighed. "Fine," he said and Finn started shaking his fists excitedly and jumping up and down, reminding Kurt of how Blaine had reacted a few minutes ago to Kurt calling him adorable. Kurt cleared his dry throat. Christ, was he getting sick? His throat kept going dry all day.

"Fine," he said again. "Whatever, I'll give Rachel a chance. And if you really want to do the barbecue thing, then you're the one responsible for asking dad and Carole's permission for it."

Finn was nodding enthusiastically. "Whatever you want, dude," he smiled. "Thanks, Kurt. It's just I want you and Rachel to get along because, you know, she's my girlfriend and you're my brother, and it would mean a lot to me if you guys liked each other."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, let's not get carried away here. I'm gonna try to be civil, Finn, I really am, but I don't know that I could ever _like_ Rachel. Don't ask for more than I can give."

Finn raised his hands in surrender, and Blaine let out the laugh he had been holding in. "You two are ridiculous," Blaine said, grinning at the both of them.

Kurt didn't want to think about the unpleasant feeling that flared in his stomach when he saw Blaine smile at Finn, so instead he ignored it and picked up his mug of tea. "Anyway," he said, moving to the entryway. "I'm going back to my room now so you guys can do whatever glee thing it is that you need to do. Finn – please take off your dirty shoes, you're ruining the floor." Finn had the decency to look apologetic. "And Blaine, it was nice to finally meet you. I guess I'll be seeing you at school, where you may or may not be stalking me."

Blaine gave him his signature smirk, and Finn looked confused but didn't say anything.

Kurt saluted them as he left the kitchen and headed towards his room, smiling to himself and wondering about the day he was having.

* * *

**A/N:** Let me know what you thought :)


	5. It's Not Some Ornamental Sigh

**A/N:** Anyone still reading this? Oh cool.

* * *

Kurt had a fitful sleep that night, tossing and turning restlessly with his thoughts, the image of a certain pair of honey tea eyes making their way into his dreams.

In his dream, he was onstage, sitting at a small, round bistro table across from Blaine, who was engrossed in a crossword puzzle, frowning at the nondescript newspaper held in his left hand and tapping his pencil rhythmically on the table with his right. Kurt noticed that all the spaces on the puzzle were blank, although several looked like letters had been written in them only to be vigorously erased.

"Three letter word for a falsehood?" Blaine asked, looking up.

Kurt frowned at him. Well, wasn't the answer obvious? But movement distracted him.

Standing around them on the stage was the entire McKinley student body, faces he recognized and faces he'd never seen before—jocks, cheerleaders, nerds, performers, basket cases, delinquents, overachievers, somebodies, nobodies—all of them watching him and Blaine with rapt attention. And despite their differences in stance and build, how they looked and how they dressed, they all wore the same expression. It unnerved Kurt, leaving him all too aware of the heat of the stage lights and the stagnant air weighing on his body.

Why were they all staring like that, eyes probing, mouths frowning, brows furrowed together, as if he were some particularly strange and perplexing object they'd found on the bottom of their shoe? And although they weren't regarding Blaine as critically as Kurt, they would glance in Blaine's direction occasionally.

The boy was still looking at Kurt, waiting for an answer to his question, seemingly unaware of the eyes pressing in on them.

Kurt flicked his gaze over the intruding faces, wondering why they were so interested and intent on watching him. He wasn't doing anything especially interesting, nor was he acting weird. He was only sitting there, confused and self-conscious. He didn't even have anything on the table before him, just his clasped hands. He turned his attention back to Blaine, whose expectant look had become anxious and almost sad.

This boy didn't make sense. He was perfect, absolutely perfect. He was attractive, polite, intelligent, charming, and evidently talented. Why was he hiding? _What_ was he hiding? Because Kurt knew now that Blaine was hiding something. He had to be. No one that perfect could look that sad if there wasn't something he was hiding.

"Lie," Kurt heard himself answer, his voice coming out harsher than he expected. "Lie."

It was the only answer. _But why?_

Blaine's face seemed to crumple for a second before smoothing into his usual expression, his lips stretched in a winning smile.

His eyes, though. They only paled, not losing an ounce of the sadness and anxiety that Kurt had glimpsed. Blaine nodded at him in acceptance and then moved his hand to scribble the answer across the puzzle squares.

But Kurt grabbed the thing away from Blaine and ripped it apart, shreds of paper falling to the ground around them as dozens of throats gasped in unison.

_What was he doing?_

_What had he done?_

_Oh god, what was he going to do next?_

But Blaine just smirked at him, meeting his eyes, understanding. _Seeing_.

Before Kurt could say anything, however, his alarm screeched loudly, jarring him awake and away from those shining amber eyes.

Standing at his locker later that morning, Kurt tried to decipher the meaning of the dream. Was there some sort of truth he was supposed to glean from the strange scene his brain had painted for him? He supposed that that was how dreams worked, showing you things that your conscious mind had yet to realize. So maybe there was something important his subconscious was trying to tell him? But he could no longer remember much of the dream past the looks his schoolmates had given him as they surrounded him and Blaine, judging with every breath. Where had they been, anyway? On a stage? At a restaurant? Kurt was fairly certain he had been at least sitting at a cafe table, with Blaine starting to write something on a paper. Three letters…

"Hey!"

The greeting nearly had Kurt jumping out of his skin. He glared at his best friend, who merely skipped over and leaned her shoulder casually against the row of lockers beside his, completely at ease and unfazed by his glower.

"Psychology," Tess said, picking at her nails.

Kurt's fixed stare turned confused. "Huh?" he asked ineloquently. Did she know he was trying to garner an explanation from his subconscious? Was she psychic? Maybe he could utilize her powers.

"Your first class on Mondays," she elaborated, glancing up at him. "AP Psych. You've been frowning into your locker for the past five minutes; I thought maybe you had forgotten which books you needed." She reached over and grabbed his psychology textbook, handing it to him. "Here ya go."

"Oh," Kurt replied, feeling stupid. "Sorry, my mind was somewhere else entirely."

"Whereabouts?" Tess asked, looking curious. "Someplace with a nice view, I hope?"

Kurt laughed, barely containing a blush. He remembered hazel eyes and a crooked smirk. If only she knew.

He wasn't sure if he wanted to tell her that he'd had a dream involving Blaine, though—he was positive he'd never hear the end of it. He decided to keep his response as vague as possible.

"I had a weird dream last night. A bunch of random students from here were in it, just surrounding me and staring at me but not actually saying anything," he said with the most casual of shrugs (he hoped). "I don't really remember what happened in the dream exactly, but that much I do recall. I guess I spaced trying to figure out the rest of it when you showed up."

Tess raised an eyebrow at him and then made a point of looking around the hallway. Quite a few people who passed them frowned momentarily at Kurt, who had moved on to touching up his hair and fixing his collar as it was reflected in the mirror he'd tacked to the inside of his locker door, his messenger bag finally filled with his necessary books and papers, hanging heavy on his shoulder. The stares kept coming, although no words were spoken.

"Um, are you sure that was a dream, hon?" Tess questioned, returning one person's particularly lingering stare threateningly. The kid wisely skittered away. "Geez, it's like they've never seen a guy before."

"A _gay_," Kurt corrected. "They've never seen a _gay_ before." He glanced around for a moment then went straight back to checking his appearance. "Not worth my time," he said.

And they really weren't. He'd been getting looks like that for almost half his life; he learned not to be bothered by them a long time ago. No, what he couldn't stop thinking about was how Blaine had been in his dream. Guarded and sad, and accepted.

"Hi, Kurt," came a chipper voice to Kurt's right, somewhere on the other side of his locker door.

Speak of the devil, Kurt thought.

He snapped his locker shut and was met with the ever-smiling face of Blaine Anderson, who seemed to have just closed his own locker and was walking towards Kurt and Tess as if he'd only just seen them there and trotting over to them was the most natural thing in the world, instead of something he'd never done before in his life.

Kurt took in Blaine's outfit as he walked—a maroon shawl-neck polo, dark wash jeans and taupe suede brogues, sans socks—more than a little impressed with the other boy's wardrobe choice and admittedly curious about where he'd even found a shawl-neck _anything_that wasn't some kind of sweater with a thick cable knit and one-too-many toggle buttons. And Kurt hated to admit it, as he'd pretty much reprimanded Tess for saying it the other day, but with the way Blaine dressed himself, he just had to be gay. Probably. Almost definitely. Maybe.

"H-hi, um, Blaine," Kurt stuttered, not having expected Blaine to actually speak to him at school. "What's up?"

What's up? _What's up?_ Ugh.

"I never thanked you for the company on Saturday," Blaine said brightly, seeming not to notice Kurt's nervous confusion at the situation.

There was a sharp intake of breath from Tess, and Kurt could feel her questioning stare pressing against the side of his head, easily hearing what she must now be thinking: _"'I never thanked you for the company on Saturday'? As in, the Saturday that we were supposed to spend all of together? The Saturday that you blew me off so you could do homework? Was _Blaine_ your 'homework,' Kurt? Oh please god, tell me you _did your homework_!"_

Oh goodie, he couldn't wait for _that _conversation.

"Oh, uh, you're welcome," Kurt replied, trying to ignore the thoughts Tess was sending him telepathically. "It was nothing, really."

"All the same, thanks. It would've been really boring just sitting in my car by myself for half an hour," Blaine said, toying with the strap of his bag. His new Tony Perotti leather messenger bag, the bastard. Kurt eyed it longingly. Blaine's gaze never left the other boy's face. "Anyway, I'll see you later," he continued after a moment, starting to back away. "Rehearsal after school today! Oh, and I think a date has tentatively been chosen for that barbecue we talked about. This Saturday is what I hear. Can't wait to try your crab legs, grill master!"

With a flash of his smirk, Blaine turned around and strutted off down the hall. "Bye," Kurt managed quietly to the boy's retreating form, trying his best not to notice just how well those jeans fit over Blaine's legs and backside.

Tess was on him in a second. "Explain."

And now he was in trouble.

He hadn't intended on saying anything to Tess about Blaine being at his house on Saturday. In fact, he'd actually had the full intention of never saying anything about this at all to anyone ever. Mostly because there was no reason to, since the whole thing was a fluke, really. But just his luck, Blaine had to go and ruin that plan by seeking Kurt out and bringing stuff up in front of Tess. Kurt hadn't seen Blaine in the hallway; he could've just left without so much as a holler in his general direction, and Kurt wouldn't have been the wiser. But no, he had to walk on over and chitchat. Insufferable boy. Well, at least he hadn't brought up how Kurt accidentally let slip that he thought Blaine was adorable. Thank the supposed God for the little things.

"Hey, I'm waiting!" Tess poked Kurt repeatedly on the shoulder. Apparently, he was taking too long to answer. "I demand an explanation _right now_, mister!" More poking. "You hung out with Cary Grant's illegitimate Eurasian love child this weekend and you didn't even think to _text_ me about it? The hell! Do I mean nothing to you?"

Kurt shoved her prodding fingers away from his person, starting to walk down the hall towards his designated classroom, more in an attempt to escape Tess and her incessant questions than to get to class on time.

"Keep your voice down, woman! And stop poking me! Anyway, there's nothing to explain," he replied, trying to sound nonchalant with that last statement. "Blaine came over to meet up with Finn for, you know, glee club business, but Finn was late. I kept the kid company while he waited. That's it. The end."

Tess raised an eyebrow at that. "Fascinating," she said flatly, though somehow still threateningly. Kurt marveled at her ability to do that. "Don't you give me the thing in a nutshell, Hummel; I want details. What did you guys do? And don't jip me, skank."

"Nothing, honestly!" Kurt maintained. "We just talked a bit."

He tried to think of something innocuous to tell her from Saturday. He would _not_ tell her about the possibly-but-probably-not-at-all-flirtatious comments Blaine made to him. Nor would he mention the indecipherable look Blaine gave him once his dad left. Nor would he bring up how he had been rendered momentarily dumb by Blaine's stupidly gorgeous face.

Eventually, he went with: "Blaine likes juice."

Tess blinked at him. "Please tell me you mean 'juice' as a metaphor for something else that's much more interesting than actual juice," Tess said in a pleading tone that Kurt didn't quite understand the need for. He frowned at her.

"No, I mean 'juice' as in juice," Kurt replied. "Blaine's favorite is apple."

"Christ, you fucking _would_," Tess exclaimed, sounding frustrated and looking toward the ceiling as if praying to the Powers That Be for a laundry list of virtues that might help her deal with the situation she found herself in.

"What—" Kurt started but was immediately cut off.

"You little shit, you had Blaine Anderson at your house!" Tess's raised voice drew some surprised and curious stares. Kurt desperately pulled her farther down the hallway by her elbow, as people had begun whispering while she continued to rattle on. "_Blaine. Anderson_," she reiterated. "You know the one? Handsome, compact, polite as fuck? You had him! All to yourself! For thirty minutes! In your house! The guy that no one seems to know anything about—you had him. And the most interesting piece of information you were able to gather from the encounter was that _he likes juice?_ Are you kidding me? Seriously, if Blaine hadn't mentioned the run-in himself, I'd have thought you were making the whole thing up just to appease me for being concerned about your love life."

"Oh, would you quit it with the love-life crap!" Kurt exclaimed louder than he meant to. He stopped them and pulled Tess over to a corner by the lockers just outside his psychology classroom so he could look her in the eye while he spoke.

"This is exactly why I didn't tell you about Blaine, Tess. Because now that's all you're going to want to talk about, even though _you promised me_ that you would drop this whole issue. No boy talk until New York, remember? Remember that?"

"Yeah, well, that was before I knew that Blaine was interested in you, you doofus!" his best friend retorted with a backhand to his chest, chin held high in what looked like anticipation of victory.

"What?" Kurt said dumbly, shocked and confused. He hadn't expected her to say anything like that and was, admittedly, a little hurt that she would take that tactic with him. Tess knew how desperate he was for someone to reciprocate even the slightest bit of romantic interest, but he never in a million years thought she would use that weakness against him. "Why would you say that, Tess?" The hurt showed on his face.

Tess just gave him an incredulous look, her mouth gaping. "Are you serious?" she asked. "Were you not there a minute ago? Are you completely blind? Do we need to get your head checked? 'Cause my mom knows a guy—"

"—Could you please just stop? You've hurt my feelings enough, thank you very m—"

"—He likes you, dumbass!" Tess grabbed Kurt's shoulders when he moved, effectively preventing him from escaping into the classroom, which was now receiving a steady flow of students through its entrance. "He was making dopey heart-eyes at you from the time he sauntered over, all 'Oh my gracious, thank you ever so much for your comp'ny, Mr. Hummel,' until the moment he walked away, swaying his hips far too much for someone who wasn't wearing heels, I'm sure just to draw your attention to his fine, _fine_ ass…"

It was Kurt's turn to gape. "He did not!" he insisted, a blush rising high in his cheeks. He hated his friend so much in that moment. Not only was Tess making fun of him, but now she was making fun Blaine as well. He would not stand for it.

He was about to say something more, something sharp, give her a piece of his mind, but the warning bell for the start of classes rang out loudly and suddenly right above their heads, startling the both of them.

Fuming and frustrated and ruined for his comeback, Kurt settled for glaring at his friend instead. "I am not doing this with you," he said, his tone clipped. He turned away from her without further comment and walked into his class, ignoring her shouts after him. He took an open seat by the window, hoping to clear his head.

Fat chance.

One thing was for sure: with Tess as his assistant stage manager and Blaine as the musical's lead, Kurt would not be having a clear head for a while.

* * *

**A/N:** Kurt's a bit neurotic in this, just fyi. Next chapter: rehearsal! And actual, proper conversation between our boys! :)

P.S. Please don't hesitate to review! Reviews do wonders for a writer's motivation.


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